Who: Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch When: September 2 Where: Hunger Games Hall What: Haymitch doesn't know how to door Rating: PGish (mentions of alcoholism) Status: In Progress
Haymitch was not immune to surprises; being ripped from his own world and to this one had taken him for a spin. But after being set right on his feet and thrust into the too bright lights, he was starting to get his footing. Or rather, he was pretty sure he was. After all, quick adaptation and being able to survive was all Haymitch knew, and all he’d ever taught to anyone who would listen to him for two seconds and wasn't a painted fool. But right then, as he stood before his door, he did not feel surprise.
He felt frustration. The lock was different than those at home, or even those in the gilded towers of the Capitol. And as he tried to make it work, and failed, he let out a grunt of annoyance. He had his hand was open on the wood of the door, the other trusting and twisting the key in every conceivable way. Haymitch had a few creature comforts he wanted, and all of them laid within this new living space.
Food, water, a shower. Sleep. He knew he stunk, he hadn’t showered in too long. It was hard to keep track of days in 13, not when he’d been on a cot drying out against his will. His clothes, standard by the militant district’s rules, needed a change.
He twisted again, and pulled the key out. Finally he slammed one hand against the door in frustration.
Where was Katniss? Where was Finnick? Anyone at all?
Where was alcohol kept?
He understood this was a different world. He wasn’t an idiot, this was far too elaborate for Snow and his trackerjackers. Even the Game Masters couldn’t do this. He did wonder if this was death. If this was death, then he hoped not to see Katniss or the others for a good, long time. He’d been lonely before, it only seemed fitting he’d be lonely in death.